


The World Quivers Beneath her

by Aestheticdenbrough



Category: IT (1990), IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Blood and Gore, Carrie White - Freeform, Gen, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Other, Rape/Non-con Elements, Telekinesis, basically like her
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-10
Updated: 2019-08-10
Packaged: 2020-08-14 03:29:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20185516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aestheticdenbrough/pseuds/Aestheticdenbrough
Summary: Beverly gets spattered by blood in the sink, leaving her with an unusual change in being.





	The World Quivers Beneath her

He’d done it again like he always has, from a goddamn elementary school age all the until now at age 17. So close to being able to move out, but not close enough. Beverly looks herself in the mirror, scissors in a death grip in her left hand. She pulls a strand away from her head, snipping off a good few inches and sighs out in satisfaction. A release of sorts, but she doesn’t stop there. She snips away recklessly until almost her entire head is close to the same length, her hair greasy and not looking its best. She rinses the locks down the sink drain and goes about taking a shower, scrubbing to feel less like what’s happened has happened. 

When she’s out and dressed, Beverly returns to the sink and hears a strange gurgling sound coming from the drain. She peers over the porcelain. The gurgles continue and fester below her, getting louder if anything. She closes one of her eyes and squints the other one to get a closer look at what could be making the mysterious noise. In that moment, a small spurt of blood erupts from the sink, only spattering the space around the drain. She goes down to poke at it but before her finger even touches the blood more explodes out of the small holes, spraying all over her face and freshly cleaned hair and body. 

She clamps a hand over her mouth to suppress any scream her father would be able to hear in the other room. She may be dressed in her pajamas and decent by now, but she’s still scared for her father to see her like this, it would make her seem weaker. If she’s weaker he might think of her even more as his little girl, it would get worse again and she can’t risk that happening. She gasps behind her hand, trying to regain some composure before going back to look down the drain again.

She eventually finds that she can't bring herself to do it. She’s covered in blood and she doesn’t know who or what it’s from. She goes back to the shower and starts it up to wash off at least a little, rinsing her hands up to her upper-arms and her face, letting the water run through her hair, the water in the tub below turning a pink color before swirling away back into the pipes. She closes her eyes and shuts her mouth as tight as she can so she doesn’t need to taste the coppery taste again.

She changes into new, non-blood-soaked pajamas before stepping out into the living room, she needs to go out onto the patio and have a smoke, she’s sure she’s delusional after what she’s just seen. She sits on the railing of the patio and lights her cigarette, no filter, it helps when it’s raw and hits her throat just the right way to calm her. She sits and looks over the space around her, the evening air surrounding her on the small porch lit only by a flickering lightbulb suspended on the roof above the foundation. The light in the street is off, she squints into the darkness, wishing the lights would stay on so she could go back on her late-night bike rides, but it’s so much better with the soft glow of lanterns behind her as she zooms past them. It’s a cathartic experience that she feels she needs now- damn town and not replacing the bulbs.

Suddenly, without warning, the light flickers back to life, as if by her thought and only that. She chokes on the smoke before it can even hit the back of her throat in surprise. It’s surely a coincidence and she knows that, but she could at least bike up to that street light, she could play it by ear from there.

She storms down the steps of the porch to her bike resting on the gravel at the bottom. She pulls it up off the ground and swings her leg over the seat and pushes off to meet the light post. She gets there and there it is, still glowing strong like just a while before, a vast difference to the burst bulb that had been there for weeks. She squints up to the light down the street, also out, until the bulb goes off her in her own head, and the light snaps on. Now this, this can’t be a coincidence.

She pushes on the pedals again, pumping her legs hard and fast, the street lights flicking on just as she passes each and every one. There’s something so powerful and satisfying about the world seeming to warp and change to pure whims. She uses her thoughts to flick rocks out of the way as she bikes as not to pop her tires. Now, this is going to be fun, just wait until she tells the other losers.


End file.
